


wishes lodged in the heart

by saunatonttu



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: Sometimes Arthur wanted to get away from it all, and this time Francis finds out about one of his escape plans.





	

The desk was littered with travel brochures instead of official paperwork for once, and that was the startling clue to what Arthur was up to. It was nothing quite as dramatic as the military or naval plans in the past -- rather, the brochures suggested a fairly positive outcome this time around. Positive to Francis, anyhow, maybe less so for Arthur’s politicians.

Grinning rather like a cat, Francis noted that most brochures were of France -- of himself. If that didn’t positively feed to his ego, well, then nothing would. Despite the years of empty arguments, it did seem like Arthur was fond of his fair lands and fair self more than he let be known out loud.

Other than travel guides and brochures, there were a few photographs laid out on the mahogany desk that looked like it had seen its fair share of days in Arthur’s manor. The photos looked like they had been taken by an old-fashioned camera, the one that required ridiculous amount of setting up, and the contents in the photos supported that impression as well as the Paris they showed was very different from the one belonging in the 21st century.

It was, perhaps, a bit after the Entente Cordiale, if Francis had to try to time the photos. The Seine was gorgeous even black-and-white, and the buildings magnificent in their historical meanings and beautiful structures. Notre Dame was in one of the photos, as well, and Francis’s lips tilted upwards as nostalgia welled up. Black-and-white photos didn’t do his city enough justice, though, and he was almost offended Arthur didn’t have any newer.

Although… selfies counted, perhaps? Francis had sent Arthur the selfies they had taken together, after all. But Arthur’s phone was nowhere in sight, so Francis couldn’t confirm if Arthur had kept them.

...What a dreadful _if_. Of course Arthur had kept them, right? There was nothing as fashionable as a good selfie at the feet of the Eiffel Tower.

Francis shook his head, pulling himself away from the world the photographs contained and glanced around the study, empty of its owner. It was strange that Arthur wasn’t there -- even stranger was that Arthur hadn’t tidied up after himself. The man was so bent on cleaning after himself that it sometimes bordered on OCD levels. Not the German-level OCD, but still.

An impromptu nap, then? Francis knew Arthur’s bedroom was linked to the study room by door, so it was a possibility Arthur had managed to drag himself into his bed and given into a wave of grogginess. Good thing, too, since his back was in bad enough shape as it was. Francis tutted at the thought -- if Arthur ever asked, he would offer his massage services…

Francis strutted to the door leading to the bedroom, not throwing any glances at the full bookshelf next to the desk. He knew what books there were, which photos Arthur had framed; those things would change terribly little along the years and decades.

At the door, he hesitated. He was comfortable just walking in on Arthur, of course. Arthur didn’t put up as much of a fuss anymore either, and their relationship had always been physically comfortable in the sense that they weren’t embarrassed for themselves around each other. Arthur, on occasion, but that was his British uptight-ness.   
Oh well. C’est la vie, as Francis’s elegant language claimed.

He opened the door as carefully as possible, knowing Arthur hadn’t oiled its hinges in a while. And, as expected, the door gave a slight squeak as Francis pulled it open.   
“Arthur? _Mon cher_ , you do remember I said I was coming over, ri-- Oh.”

Arthur was nowhere near as modest as he played to be, and his taste in beds (similar to Francis’s, surprisingly) was as gloriously imperialistic as Arthur’s taste in tea -- not limited to Earl Grey, oh no, but also Chinese and Indian brands. King-sized bed with cheap sheets… Oh, the sheets were the one thing Francis wrinkled his nose at. But the bed, IKEA-made and hats off to Sweden again, was fine, taking up quite a bit of Arthur’s bedroom, which gave Francis all sorts of ideas about what was possible to accomplish there.  
Arthur lay sprawled over the bed, legs unceremoniously wide and arms just as careless tossed against the sheets, his button-up shirt wrinkled in the wrong places and trousers seemingly having slid down a bit. Arthur’s hair was always a mess, so there was no noticeable change there.

The curtains weren’t drawn to cover the window, Francis noted, a slight grin curling over his mouth as his eyes flicker back to Arthur’s unmoving self. Mouth shut, nostrils flaring, brows wrinkled like he was having a bad dream. And yet, oddly endearing.

Francis used to love watching Arthur sleep when they were both kids - or, rather, Arthur was a kid and Francis a pre-teen approaching his teens. Sometimes he happened to come across the sleeping child on the meadow that had come to mean their shared place, sometimes Arthur simply fell asleep on Francis after a rowdy argument.

Francis had stayed with him, then, and he would stay with him now. Even though he might be in for a punch when Arthur stirs. Oh well.

Although… Arthur’s face scrunched up, concerningly so, and as a flicker of rare sun shifted over Arthur’s bed, Francis could see the dark circles under the other’s eyes. Nothing rare there either, as of late.

But perhaps Francis should do the right thing and wake Arthur up from whatever dream he was in. It was the right thing to do, and Arthur really ought to tend to his guest rather than nap the afternoon away. His precious tea time was approaching, too. 

Francis simply hoped he wouldn’t be headbutted as a result. 

Going to the bedside, he leaned over to shake Arthur by the shoulder. “Arthur, _mon chou_ , it’s time to wake up and greet the sun. God knows you don’t get enough of precious vitamin D.” 

(“You mean, vitamin Dick--” Alfred had once said, and Francis only remembered that because Arthur had slammed Tolstoy’s _War and Peac_ e on Alfred’s head to shut him up.)

Arthur’s eyelids fluttered, a sliver of green just barely visible before the lids went down again. 

Francis sighed. “Arthur. _Angleterre._ The United Kingdom of Whatever--”

The sound that left Arthur’s mouth was like a low purr, a trilling sound that sounded unnatural coming from him. But it was true that Arthur had always woken up more pleasantly when he wasn’t on battle field. 

Francis had forgotten that. He really, truly had -- it had been ages since he had been there to see Arthur wake up. 

Francis’s smile widened. “I know you are awake, mon cher. You cannot fool me.”

Arthur sighed, heavily, but he opened his eyes fully now, fingers curling against Francis’s, which had reached for Arthur’s just then. Now his eyebags looked even darker, but Francis could only pay attention to the dark green of Arthur’s eyes, the flecks of something brighter enchanting him. Oh yes, there was beauty there, alright. 

“Francis…” Arthur drawled, voice hitching in his throat as he blinked. “What’re you-?”  
F

rancis held Arthur’s hand and brought it up to his lips. “We had arranged a meeting, no?”

Arthur’s eyes widened. At which part, it was hard to tell. Bewildered, Arthur seemed to sink further into his mattress. “Ah… that we had…” 

“It’s fine,” Francis reassured him by pressing another kiss to Arthur’s knuckles. Arthur was much more accepting of affection when he was tired - which had been, well, quite often lately, but even so Arthur woke up earlier than Francis whenever he stayed over. “Business can wait, can’t it? Let’s lie down for a while.”

“I’ve been lying down enough,” Arthur protested, glancing at the clock on his nightstand, “twenty minutes more than I should have, in fact.” 

Still, he seemed reluctant to move from his spot, and so Francis didn’t feel any regrets in choosing to climbing onto Arthur’s bed beside him and whispering to Arthur’s reddening ears, “We have the rest of the day, my love. Let’s not rush through it just yet.”

Arthur sighed, but pressed himself against Francis’s side, even turning his head to nuzzle at Francis’s cheek. He really was exhausted, hm? “Pet names won’t win you any prizes here, git.”

“Well, we can always talk about the brochures in your study,” Francis laughed, draping an arm over Arthur to pull him close, fingers slipping past Arthur’s shirt to meet his side. “I just knew you were interested in my Paris.”

“Ah, you… saw those.” Arthur paused, the usual stiffness and formality returning to his features. Francis hummed.

“Yes. Saw those old photos, as well. You had laid them out in the middle of your desk, after all.”

“Oh, no,” Arthur mumbled, sounding even wearier now. “You’re never going to let that go.”

“Mmhm, right you are, my dear but unfortunately English companion!” Francis chirped, pressing kisses over Arthur’s face. “I’m going to make sure you know you love Paris just as much as London eeeevery day, mon amour.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. The brochures, at most, indicate that I would like to go on a holiday in Paris,” Arthur argued, but he sounded wistful, like he actually meant what he said. And this had Francis blink a couple times. 

“Is that what you want to do? You’ve been to Paris plenty of times before, _mon cher_.”

“Not as a tourist,” Arthur said, soft like he was revealing something embarrassing. Sleepy enough to pretend that he didn’t mean to. “Wars and world meetings don’t count, really.”

“You have visited me,” Francis insisted, “for the sake of seeing me, _oui_?”

“We don’t really do much other than mess around when we meet up, Francis,” Arthur snorted. “It’s a weekend spent on shagging or a movie marathon or drinking contest, but nothing else, really. I don’t know the current Paris as well as I--”

Arthur went quiet, possibly out of embarrassment as his flushed face suggested.

“You what~?” Francis prodded at him, grinning from ear to ear. 

“As well as I want to,” Arthur said with an impressively sarcastic tone of voice. “Don’t… don’t grin like that, idiot! It’s not my fault Paris isn’t the worst it could be.”

“Uh-huh.” Francis couldn’t help but grin harder. It wasn’t every day that Arthur praised Paris, after all. Praising Francis’s heart, even. “You could just admit that you want to spend quality time with me, Arthur. I would gladly show you around and introduce you to the wonders of my culture, _mon amour_. Even though some of it you already know by heart, surely.”

“Learning isn’t the point here,” Arthur grumbled, burrowing himself into Francis’s embrace. “I, uh… don’t take this the wrong way, but Paris just… helps me breathe better when home gives too much anxiety. Home away from home, I s’pose.”

Oh. 

Francis should have seen that one coming, since Arthur had been awfully stressed lately, what with his people voting and all the delightful chaos that came with the results. Politicians, always so quick to abandon a sinking ship. Francis had always loathed them - except when their purpose suited his, of course, but weren’t all nations that way?

“I didn’t know you were that attached,” Francis admitted as he shifted, pulling Arthur to lie against his chest. A bit uncomfortable as maneuver, but the end result was just fine. “Sacré-Coeur will be worth a visit - I don’t think I’ve ever taken you there, _mon amour_ , but the view from there is simply breathtaking and the interior… oh, _mon Dieu._ Not to mention all the gardens you used to be fond of. Versailles is still gorgeous today, I assure you.”

“Yes, because the garden there is styled after the English, is it not?” Arthur snorted, but there was an underlying tone of excitement that Francis couldn’t leave unnoticed. 

“If that’s what you want to think,” Francis hummed. 

“Oh, good job sounding condescending, old chap.”

“Yes, well, I may sound like it, but you breathe condescension like you live off on it, my dear. What do you think about dropping by Le Petit Plateau for lunch when you come by next, hm? We’d be able to visit Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle while we’re in the area.” 

“I don’t particularly care for churches, Francis. But fine, I’ll take you up on that.” Arthur’s huffiness was barely audible when he buried his face into Francis’s neck, his breath sending goosebumps over the other’s skin. 

Sometimes it was fine to entertain fantasies like this, Francis mused to himself as he held Arthur. Fantasies that would inevitably come true but which were fantasies for the time being, regardless. 

They had all the time in the world to make it happen…


End file.
